Regal |Fantasy Ryden AU| DISCONTINUED

-14-

"Keep your feet firmly planted and your knees ever so slightly bent.  Otherwise, when you go to strike, you'll lose your balance and give the opponent a clear shot."

There was a small clearing with a babbling brook and a few towering evergreens at the edge of Neverwood.  As soon as the pale sun had creeped over the horizon, casting a sickly glow across the quiet town, the quartet pulled themselves from their restful slumber and gathered their weapons to practice in peace.  Dusk was going to arrive quicker than any of them wanted, and although they were certain that Gerard and Mikey would handle the worst of the dangers, nothing could ease their growing apprehension.

Ryan's fingers trembled as he showed the three where to grip the hilt and how to ready their postures; he wasn't sure if it was due to the damp and frigid air of Dracden, or the crippling fear of what was waiting for them in the shadows of the coming night.

Spencer caught on quickly.  Despite his initial skepticism--for even the mere thought of holding a sharp blade made him anxious--he managed to master the art of fundamental stances almost instantly.  That only fueled his eager desire to learn more, and Ryan wasn't sure he was going to be able to keep up with the royal adviser's pace.

Jon had declared from the start that he wouldn't be great with sword fighting, but he still stuck with the rudimentary practices, just in case.

"I feel like I'm better off as a ranged fighter,"  he had said with a smirk, "but I'll still get the basics down.  It wouldn't hurt to know a bit."

Brendon, on the other hand, was quieter and more solemn than the other three had ever seen him.  He hadn't uttered a single word since waking up in the dim room, and still, as Ryan tried his best to teach them simple jabs and strikes, he merely stared at the bright carnelian stone in the hilt with a melancholic glint in his dark, tired eyes.  To say he was acting severely out of character was an understatement.

And when Ryan asked him if was feeling all right, the exhausted prince only replied, "Of course.  Just a bit of an unrestful night."

The young blacksmith longed to ask if he'd had another frightening vision, but he bit his tongue.  Now wasn't the time to wonder about something like that.  Surely if that had been the case, and it involved their task with the vampire hunters, he would speak up about it.  Surely he would.

Still, despite his obvious exhaustion and drained state of mind, Brendon managed to keep up with Ryan's teachings.  He was, by far, the worst out of the four at maintaining the proper stance and lunging forward to strike, but it was only the first day.  With plenty of time and practice, Ryan had faith that he'd be able to do it.

Much to the young blacksmith's shock and disbelief, too, he never heard a single complaint or groan of snarky protest from Brendon over the course of their first lesson.  He kept his lips sealed and his disoriented attention fixated on learning the techniques; his rapid change in attitude didn't fail to make a shiver of concern ripple down Ryan's spine.

What on earth had he dreamed about during the dead of night?

There wasn't time to find out.  Gerard and Mikey found them in the quaint little clearing, and they brought food.  It wasn't a luxurious meal--merely some bread and fruit--but the weak sun was traveling across the dull slate sky much quicker than any of them would've preferred.  Soon it would be dusk, and the nest of vampires would be itching to sink their teeth into warm, fresh bodies full of warm, fresh blood.  They needed all the strength they could muster up if they even wanted a chance at destroying the nest.

After their piteous meal, the two brothers offered to teach the quartet some of their own techniques that they'd picked up over the course of their daredevil lives.  It wouldn't be much, they had said, but with enough luck, it would keep them from getting their blood painfully drained by thirsty monsters.